on some deleted poem
21 Jan 2005, 5:47 PM
well, if the opportunity ever arises to get him back, DON'T show him this pome. I can't imagine any male reading this and thinking anything else but "Run away, Run away!"
on some deleted poem
2 Feb 2004, 3:15 PM
To the best of my scrutiny, this pome is devoid of self-pity. Good for you!
on some deleted poem
3 Feb 2004, 10:47 AM
rock'n'roll!
everything here is excellent, I only found myself wanting there to be more between s.3 and s.4 to get beyond the images into the personalities. and to have a hint about what it was she saw less of, other than generalized doom. s.4 intends to leave us hanging but there doesn't seem to be quite enough to hang from.
everything here is excellent, I only found myself wanting there to be more between s.3 and s.4 to get beyond the images into the personalities. and to have a hint about what it was she saw less of, other than generalized doom. s.4 intends to leave us hanging but there doesn't seem to be quite enough to hang from.
on Some people don't know when to quit by Joe-joe
3 Feb 2004, 10:51 AM
Jane sister of Sisyphus! I like it actually. It's nice to hear this old saw rendered with a light touch instead of in teenage hyperbole for a change.
on bluebells and none by richa
3 Feb 2004, 10:54 AM
stark and evocative. I love the last two lines of s.1 -- sounds almost canadian!
what is the purpose of the mismatching tenses?
what is the purpose of the mismatching tenses?
on The girl next door by Jennichad
3 Feb 2004, 10:57 AM
unfortunately the premise of the pome is correct, at least insofar as it applies to me: I don't give a fuck. shrug, oh well.
on A Beard Most Foul by wFraser Allonby Q.C.w
3 Feb 2004, 11:05 AM
the tender depth of feeling you show here for rockmage, caring not a whit how your unusual affection may be judged by the world, is both inspiring and touching. The fourth last stanza made me uh, weep.
I didn't make it the whole way through your diatribe, but near the beginning you blurt something about this being a "serious" pome.
Ok let's test that claim, lol...here goes...
you're missing a "to" in s.2 L.1
In S.4 L.1, why "I buried my heart with" and not "I buried my heart with you" -- is this a colloquialism I don't know or was it to save a syllable for the rhythm?
in the next line, "that field" comes off pretty corny, why not just "in a field where grey stones stand"?
S.5 L.1 "...but went away" should be "...who went away" or "...but who went away"
now, after you're done getting all pissy at me like a senile cat that thinks it owns its owners house & everything in it, why don't you go make some constructive comments on one of my pomes? If you can. I personally doubt it. You obviously have some talent for writing, but apparently little ability to read and understand and contribute to others' writing. If I'm wrong, however, I'd be quite interested to hear your feedback. Foaming at the mouth at me, however, will not make me cry. It might make me giggle, and show it to someone for a good laugh.
adding in the "dear" and "my" to the 2nd rhyming line is a sweet touch.
Note to Lenore: I have to say, it's pretty fucking hard to miss that this pome is about a dead daughter, not a lost love.
Ok let's test that claim, lol...here goes...
you're missing a "to" in s.2 L.1
In S.4 L.1, why "I buried my heart with" and not "I buried my heart with you" -- is this a colloquialism I don't know or was it to save a syllable for the rhythm?
in the next line, "that field" comes off pretty corny, why not just "in a field where grey stones stand"?
S.5 L.1 "...but went away" should be "...who went away" or "...but who went away"
now, after you're done getting all pissy at me like a senile cat that thinks it owns its owners house & everything in it, why don't you go make some constructive comments on one of my pomes? If you can. I personally doubt it. You obviously have some talent for writing, but apparently little ability to read and understand and contribute to others' writing. If I'm wrong, however, I'd be quite interested to hear your feedback. Foaming at the mouth at me, however, will not make me cry. It might make me giggle, and show it to someone for a good laugh.
adding in the "dear" and "my" to the 2nd rhyming line is a sweet touch.
Note to Lenore: I have to say, it's pretty fucking hard to miss that this pome is about a dead daughter, not a lost love.
on Digging A Grave by Billy Biff-Chin
4 Feb 2004, 4:00 PM
this is so not funny anymore. He's thirteen. Fuck off.
on Notes toward a possible poem by Nicholas Jones
5 Feb 2004, 6:47 AM
As he works up his lit'r'y extrusions,
Nick poeticisms all but a few shuns.
But his substandard rank
Is proof those who would wank
Should stick to their real life protrusions.
Nick poeticisms all but a few shuns.
But his substandard rank
Is proof those who would wank
Should stick to their real life protrusions.
on Haiku 2004 by Princess_Snowflake
5 Feb 2004, 5:36 PM
I still think this is fucking brilliant.
When the things turn new. And when we are respectful.
Because you damn well better be respectful of The Things. ESPECIALLY when they're turning new.
When the things turn new. And when we are respectful.
Because you damn well better be respectful of The Things. ESPECIALLY when they're turning new.
on some deleted poem
6 Feb 2004, 8:46 AM
When did they change the elixirs of dualism from green to red? Was Dubya responsible for that?
Conservatives have it so easy -- only two bottles to choose between at each world-changing nexus.
Conservatives have it so easy -- only two bottles to choose between at each world-changing nexus.
on some deleted poem
7 Feb 2004, 3:32 AM
"there is no skill" lol. Keep telling yourself that. You probably rarely make 4 balls in a row, but in tournaments good players routinely run 4 games in a row. Put you on a snooker table and you probably only make 1 out of 4 shots. But in most world tournaments these days someone posts a perfect game -- that's 36 shots in a row. In what other sport is there such a huge magnitude of difference in results obtained by the average dork & a professional? Pool's more about skill than any other sport going.
on outSourcing by dreamsdiefirst
15 Feb 2004, 8:35 AM
Indeed. Imagine the day a nation filled with fat ignorant people born into more wealth and privelege than 99.9% of people who have ever lived stop whining about someone else getting a chance at life.
on some deleted poem
17 Feb 2004, 4:53 PM
Cristal, this is your best yet! well done. Congratulations.
btw, how do you get eyes to burn? I've tried a number of approaches and all they ever do for me is sputter and melt. I rarely even bother plucking them any more. I see you tried burning his hair too! Bet you won't do that again, lol! You're totally right, the smell just pervades everything. It won't go away for weeks -- poor you.
Darling, that illness sounds exactly like appendicitis! Get it checked right away, if it explodes you're in trouble!
btw, how do you get eyes to burn? I've tried a number of approaches and all they ever do for me is sputter and melt. I rarely even bother plucking them any more. I see you tried burning his hair too! Bet you won't do that again, lol! You're totally right, the smell just pervades everything. It won't go away for weeks -- poor you.
Darling, that illness sounds exactly like appendicitis! Get it checked right away, if it explodes you're in trouble!
on some deleted poem
20 Feb 2004, 11:31 AM
with kudos to zodiac...
"outweigh the bad" 7,360
"all the love we shared" 2,340
"stabbed me in the back" 4,020
"The worst thing I've ever done" 789
"knife * into your heart" 70
"I would give anything" 23,600
"pain burning inside" 83
"make me hate myself" 368
"I remember when we were together" 153
"when we were together" 140,000
"stick out so much" 429
"I would do anything to make you" 290
"If I could change the past" 286
"I would do whatever I had to" 205
"make the good times last" 379
"make the gootimes last" --> 0 <--
WHATEVER YOU DO, don't fix the misspelling of "good times"! It appears to be the only original phrase in this pome (if left misspelled).
"outweigh the bad" 7,360
"all the love we shared" 2,340
"stabbed me in the back" 4,020
"The worst thing I've ever done" 789
"knife * into your heart" 70
"I would give anything" 23,600
"pain burning inside" 83
"make me hate myself" 368
"I remember when we were together" 153
"when we were together" 140,000
"stick out so much" 429
"I would do anything to make you" 290
"If I could change the past" 286
"I would do whatever I had to" 205
"make the good times last" 379
"make the gootimes last" --> 0 <--
WHATEVER YOU DO, don't fix the misspelling of "good times"! It appears to be the only original phrase in this pome (if left misspelled).
on some deleted poem
20 Feb 2004, 11:45 AM
You share a father with your granny? I knew you looked inbred, but I had no idea you were THAT inbred.
on Tale of a lonely heart by Bhaskaryya
21 Jan 2005, 5:07 PM
This starts out brilliantly, then falters badly into hallmark. I'll describe what I DO like:
Nurtured betwixt eyelashes
---- Brilliant. An absolutely splendid image of a tiny feral foetus feeding on the aqueous humour of a young woman's eyeball. I would make it even more intense, add something along the lines of "the tiny pale body waxing ever stronger as the silv'ry globe shrivels"
Cradled by silver moonshine
--- ooohh, you DO use silver. CLEVER LAD. I see it. The eyeball glows with preternatural light, perhaps not shriveling at all, the inner magic ever renewing the glistening sphere, the pure light spilling out around the pale body of the feeding foetus as it...feeds
Breastfed by emotions subdued
---- INDEED!!!!! the emotions hunted down, beaten with cudgels until subdued and bundled mewling into a sack, the tip of a corner of which is cut off, and the sack, pressed heavily betwixt the iron bands of angst and desire until the pesky emotions yield their nourishing juices, is used to feed the infant when it has outgrown the eyeball. I'm THERE!
A young dream gently conjures
Within the bolted entrails
Of my lonesome heart;
---- I hear you brother. I too long ago found it necessary to bolt the entrails of my heart to a sort of scaffolding of sarcasm lest it implode in a disaster of unwonted empathy.
Opening the prison of my soul
---- here I think you begin to falter; "prison of my soul" is somewhat clichéd
And allowing my rusted thoughts
---- YES rusted, because they are ignored, disused, UNWANTED. Brilliant image.
To sear up high and once more
Transcend the boundaries of free air-
Elevated much higher from ground reality.
--- I would add lines after the first line, something along the lines of "leaving a branded trail/the long length of her luminous body"
--and then from this point I feel, really, that you trail away into a sort of hallmark-ish welter of schmalzy weltshmerz.
Nurtured betwixt eyelashes
---- Brilliant. An absolutely splendid image of a tiny feral foetus feeding on the aqueous humour of a young woman's eyeball. I would make it even more intense, add something along the lines of "the tiny pale body waxing ever stronger as the silv'ry globe shrivels"
Cradled by silver moonshine
--- ooohh, you DO use silver. CLEVER LAD. I see it. The eyeball glows with preternatural light, perhaps not shriveling at all, the inner magic ever renewing the glistening sphere, the pure light spilling out around the pale body of the feeding foetus as it...feeds
Breastfed by emotions subdued
---- INDEED!!!!! the emotions hunted down, beaten with cudgels until subdued and bundled mewling into a sack, the tip of a corner of which is cut off, and the sack, pressed heavily betwixt the iron bands of angst and desire until the pesky emotions yield their nourishing juices, is used to feed the infant when it has outgrown the eyeball. I'm THERE!
A young dream gently conjures
Within the bolted entrails
Of my lonesome heart;
---- I hear you brother. I too long ago found it necessary to bolt the entrails of my heart to a sort of scaffolding of sarcasm lest it implode in a disaster of unwonted empathy.
Opening the prison of my soul
---- here I think you begin to falter; "prison of my soul" is somewhat clichéd
And allowing my rusted thoughts
---- YES rusted, because they are ignored, disused, UNWANTED. Brilliant image.
To sear up high and once more
Transcend the boundaries of free air-
Elevated much higher from ground reality.
--- I would add lines after the first line, something along the lines of "leaving a branded trail/the long length of her luminous body"
--and then from this point I feel, really, that you trail away into a sort of hallmark-ish welter of schmalzy weltshmerz.
on Paris, 1934 by Fear of Garbage
23 Jan 2005, 10:07 AM
jesus you are ungodly. I hate you you presumptious fucking little git.
cleverly overloaded words, syncopation with sibillants in opposition to b's and k's, impeccable rhyming, tantalizing inner rhymes. deliberate odd word combinations that force the mind to construct images and meaning that soars beyond the sparse construction. This is how I used to imagine writing (when I was young and gave a fuck) but never actually could.
I hate you I hate you I hate you.
P.S. Never stop writing.
cleverly overloaded words, syncopation with sibillants in opposition to b's and k's, impeccable rhyming, tantalizing inner rhymes. deliberate odd word combinations that force the mind to construct images and meaning that soars beyond the sparse construction. This is how I used to imagine writing (when I was young and gave a fuck) but never actually could.
I hate you I hate you I hate you.
P.S. Never stop writing.
Her technique of turning statements into questions might serve you well in a few places in this pome.